


The Best We Could

by sphilia



Series: In the blood [2]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Cunnilingus, M/M, Pregnancy, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Technobabble, Vaginal Fingering, manipulative jerks manipulating each other, off-screen infant death, pregnancy horror, robo gore
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-02
Updated: 2017-12-31
Packaged: 2018-07-28 22:25:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7659181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sphilia/pseuds/sphilia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The domestic bliss of two scheming bastards in love. Or something.</p>
<p>A series of fics set after the events of With Your Name In His Mouth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. How To Train Your Spider

**Author's Note:**

> in which prowl shows tarantulas a good time.

Prowl's teeth dug a harsh furrow in his lip, biting down on the thin, breathy sounds that seemed to rise from his throat with a will of their own. His body burned, his energon boiled, an unbearable heat radiated from the apex of his thighs and the hulking creature kneeling in the space between.

Tarantulas, his tormentor, held him effortlessly open, paws holding his squirming legs in an unyielding grip. His face was buried deep in the wet heat of Prowl's valve, head ducked so eagerly close that Prowl could barely see it over the generous curves of his own body. While he had a lifetime of experience peering around his own bumper, he had far less with the unnatural mound formed by his distended belly; the “gift” given to him by the very creature that was currently savoring his valve like a delectable treat. The heavy objects filling his abdomen rocked and shifted inside him in time with his hips helplessly rocking against Tarantulas’ face. He could feel friction that he suspected was Tarantulas snickering against his valve, but he was beyond caring. His overload was so close he could taste it, as long as Tarantulas kept doing  _ that _ , as long as he didn't stop…

Prowl flung his head back, choking out a single, breathless moan, caught in the throes of overload. He jerked helplessly in Tarantulas’ grip, legs feebly trying to close around his head. He could  _ hear _ Tarantulas snicker softly this time, but his grip gentled, letting Prowl's legs go with an affectionate pat. He lifted his head, peering smugly up at Prowl. “I told you you'd enjoy it,” he purred, sliding his arms around Prowl's waist.

Prowl shot a slightly dazed glare down at him. “I never questioned your prowess, Tarantulas.” He squirmed his lower body out from under Tarantulas’ weight, scooting until he could dangle his legs off the side of Tarantulas’ recharge slab. Tarantulas followed him, kneeling beside him with his arms loosely looped around him. “I said I didn't have  _ time _ for this, which remains true. I do have work to do.”

“Oh, but this is much more enjoyable, don't you think?” One paw rose to caress the swell of Prowl's belly. “Plus, physical activity keeps our little darlings from wedging too deeply somewhere they can cause permanent damage. We don't want you to have any complications, hmm?” Tarantulas’ furry head ducked down to press a lubricant-wet mock kiss to the very top of the mound.

Prowl swatted at him, mouth twisting in displeasure. “Wipe your mouth!” he snapped. “Your concern is touching, but you  _ could _ just remove them, like I've  _ asked _ .”

Tarantulas sighed and caught Prowl's hand, pressing the palm to his sticky mandibles in a loving nuzzle. “Tsk, tsk, Prowl. You never used to be so short-sighted. Removing them would defeat the point.”

“You never  _ told _ me the point of this,” Prowl reminded him, squirming with distaste as his palm was smeared with his own lubricant. He hooked a finger around one of Tarantulas’ mandibles, tugging irritably. “You can't judge me for not having all the facts when you're the one withholding them from me.”

“Oh, very well.” The paw on Prowl's belly began to move again, stroking it fondly. “How much do you know about pregnancy?”

“I'm not pregnant,” Prowl said, stone faced. “I'm victim to a parasitic infestation.”

“Technically, it's not parasitic,” Tarantulas said pleasantly. “They don't need to rob you of sustenance, as the artificial sentio metallico within the vessels provides all the material they need. You're simply… acting as an incubator.” Tarantulas shot Prowl a playful leer. “Your body is their warm and cozy little home.”

He looked back down at Prowl's swollen midsection, voice soft. “You're not undergoing true pregnancy, but that doesn't mean we can't take advantage of similar psychological effects. These children aren't fully developed yet, but they do have a limited perception of their environment.” He dropped Prowl's hand, shifting so he could frame Prowl's belly with both paws, gaze reverently fixed on it. “Inside you, they're immersed in your body heat, in the smell and feel of your body. They hear your voice all around them, lulling them to sleep. You're their safe space, Prowl. Your very being is inextricably linked to safety and warmth. When they finally emerge, they're going to be predisposed to love you. To crave your affection and your approval.” His gaze lifted, meeting Prowl's optics. “A dozen new operatives, unknown to your enemies and completely, unquestionably loyal to you. You want to know the point of this, Prowl? It's you. All of this is for you.”

Prowl broke his gaze away from Tarantulas’, unnerved by the naked devotion in his optics, and looked down at his belly, brow furrowing in thought. He had known the eggs were viable life, but what Tarantulas implied… “They'll be… sentient?”

“They'll be indistinguishable from any cybertronian,” Tarantulas said, puffing up with pride. “They're true, new life, artificial sparks and all.” His voice softened and his optics dimmed wistfully. “Just like Ostaros was.”

“Hmm.” Prowl pretended not to hear the grief in Tarantulas’ voice. _That_ particular lie was not one he was prepared to deal with right now. “And how much testing have you done on this theory?”

“Ah, well…” Tarantulas shuffled, seeming almost embarrassed. “Technically speaking, this is the first testing batch.”

Prowl shot him a sharp look. “You did all  _ this _ to me, and you haven't even tested that it'll work?”

“You're the only one I _could_ do this to, Prowl,” Tarantulas said, placating. “There's no one else in the universe I could bear to have co-parenting my creations. Don't worry,” he added sweetly. “I estimate we'll have ironed out any kinks in the process by batch three, or so.”

“No.” The single word struck like a whip crack. “I concede that these… creations of yours can be of use, but I am not carrying any more ‘batches’ for you.” Prowl raised his hand, cutting off any potential protest. “And don't think you can coerce me on this point. I forgave you for forcing this on me once, but try it again and our partnership is over. You can force yourself on my body, but you'll lose your chance to have my mind. You'll have a shell of me and nothing more. Do you understand me, Tarantulas?”

Tarantulas pouted, clearly disappointed, but sighed in defeat. “Yes, Prowl. I understand you perfectly.” He wrapped his arms around Prowl, cuddling close. “This was always a possibility,” he murmured, “But as long as I have you by my side, I can live with your lack of scientific rigor.”

Prowl wasn't fooled by the meek concession. Tarantulas was ruthless, and his supposed love for Prowl wouldn't stop him from taking everything he thought he could get away with. Prowl's only advantage in this game depended on maintaining Tarantulas’ desire for his autonomy and… relatively enthusiastic consent. If he ever lost that… Well. Tarantulas would have no reason  _ not _ to string him up and use him as a mindless incubator, or whatever other horrors that uniquely creative mind of his could cook up.

With that in mind, when Tarantulas’ embrace began to grow bolder, paws skirting furtively lower, obviously angling for a continuation of their previous activity, Prowl made a swift decision. He scooted to his knees, turning in Tarantulas’ arms, and nudged a space open for himself in between his thighs. For extra measure, his hips ‘happened’ to tilt into Tarantulas’ paws, letting them settle firmly on Prowl's rear.

Tarantulas’ optics brightened with interest at his sudden activity. “Now, what are you up to, Prowl?” he murmured, shivering faintly when Prowl's hand brushed down his abdomen, onto the head of his beast mode.

Prowl dimmed his optics, shooting Tarantulas a coy look. He stroked one of the thick, furry mandibles that protruded from the beast mode head and curved down Tarantulas’ crotch, handling it with slow, suggestive motions. He allowed his mouth to fall slightly open, letting Tarantulas catch artfully brief glimpses of his tongue, wetting his lips, pressing it against his teeth. “Open for me,” he murmured very softly, lacing his voice with filthy promises.

Tarantulas made a breathless little noise, head bowing as if magnetically drawn to Prowl. “You're plotting something,” he said, sounding slightly dazed. Despite his words, his beast mode head transformed under Prowl's fingers, folding away to reveal his panels, surrounded by smooth plating, free of alien fur.

Prowl rewarded him with a pleased smirk, and ran two fingers down the already hot plating. “Merely reminding you that it  _ is _ in your interest to keep me happy,” he said. “Call it... positive reinforcement.”

Despite his obscene fondling of Tarantulas’ mandible, he brushed quickly past the spike panel, settling on the lower panel. He shifted, slinging his other arm over Tarantulas’ shoulder, tugging him further down. “Now,” Prowl murmured, tapping the valve panel, “Will you open for me?”

The panel snapped open with desperate speed. Tarantulas bowed low over him, following his tugging arm as obediently as a leash. His optics, fixed on Prowl's face, betrayed aching vulnerability. It was everything Prowl could have hoped for, and more. He pressed a tender little kiss to Tarantulas’ mandibled mouth, and slipped one finger between the folds of his valve. A choked, needy little noise broke out of Tarantulas’ vocalizer. His paws tightened under Prowl's rear, nearly lifting him in the air, but careful not to dislodge his hand from Tarantulas’ valve.

Prowl ran his finger slowly, torturously through the slick heat, noting how wet Tarantulas already was. “Is this all for me?” he teased, voice pitched seductively low.

Tarantulas shook in his arms, so greatly affected that he seemed near weeping. “Always,” he whispered hoarsely. “Always you, Prowl.”

Prowl kissed him again, peppered little kisses along his mandibles, and slipped another finger into his valve. He spread the valve lips, letting cool air play over the heated folds, then teased the wet petals with light touches. Tarantulas’ pelvis rocked in small, aborted motions, as if afraid Prowl would stop if he moved too much, if his quivering, choked moans grew too loud. He hadn't forbidden either, but he'd let Tarantulas figure that out himself - it was quite enticing to see him in such a vulnerable state. Prowl couldn't resist dragging it out, slowly, expertly fingering Tarantulas to a panting mess. It was gratifying to discover that he still knew exactly where all of Tarantulas’ sweet spots could be found; however altered his body, he responded just as Prowl remembered.

Sticky lubricant was dripping down his hand, smearing down the insides of Tarantulas’ thighs, by the time Prowl began to consider showing mercy. Every breath from Tarantulas was an audible whine, every inch of his body hunched and tilted for Prowl's access. His optics were glassed over with pleasure, oblivious to everything but the ministrations on his valve. All very flattering, but Prowl did want him to pay attention to this next bit. He took one of Tarantulas’ mandibles gently between his teeth, and tugged slowly on it until Tarantulas’ optics began to come back into focus, then let go and wrapped his lips around two mandibles at once, tonguing the gap in between in an obscene kiss. With Tarantulas’ attention refocusing on him, Prowl took the opportunity to slide his fingers down the valve, caressing the anterior node with a light, teasing touch, before giving it a sharp pinch. The hot groan that washed over him from Tarantulas’ wide maw told him exactly how much he enjoyed the rough treatment. Tarantulas’ arms tightened around him, one paw moving to hold the back of his head, pressing him close, forcing Prowl's lips to stay uncomfortably stretched around the two mandibles. He panted into Tarantulas mouth, concentrating his efforts on his node, alternately stroking and pinching it. It didn't take long for the unmistakable signs of overload to overcome Tarantulas, his valve clenching rhythmically, even as Prowl stayed relentless on his anterior node, tormenting it throughout the climax.

He finally pulled away when Tarantulas sagged all around him, shuddering with great, big breaths. Tarantulas seemed about ready to collapse, but Prowl caught his eye. He wasn't done with Tarantulas just yet, and he wanted his full attention for this. When he was sure Tarantulas was watching, he slowly, demonstratively stuck one wet finger into his mouth, sucking the lubricant off with deliberate sloppiness. He pulled the finger out with an audible pop, and leaned close to Tarantulas’ face, lips glistening with valve and oral lubricant both.

“If you're very good,” he said softly, Tarantulas’ attention unwaveringly fixed on his lips, “I'll let you have my mouth, next time.”

His words had a devastating effect, he noted with satisfaction. Tarantulas looked ready to worship at his feet, struck speechless, optics filled with such yearning adoration that Prowl was sure he could have asked  _ anything  _ of him, right then and there.

“Yes, Prowl,” he finally struggled to choke out, soft and meek like Prowl hadn't heard in a long, long time.

“Good,” Prowl murmured. “I'm glad we understand each other.”

He pressed one last wet little kiss to Tarantulas’ mouth, and gently untangled himself from Tarantulas’ furry limbs, dropping comforting kisses to his paws before slipping out of his reach.

“I'm going to work now,” he said sweetly, “And you're going to be good and let me. I'll come see you when you've earned your reward. Do you understand, Tarantulas?”

Tarantulas nodded helplessly, still dazed. He seemed barely aware when Prowl slipped out the door and slid it shut.

Safely outside, Prowl frowned down at his fluid-stained hands. If handling Tarantulas was always going to be this messy, he'd need to start carrying tissues with him.

While he was at it, he should see about composing a schedule. Clearly, Tarantulas couldn’t be trusted to show patience or reason when it came to laying claim on Prowl's attention. If Prowl was going to have any time to actually use the resources and advantages of this alliance, he would need a careful combination of denial, acquiescence and the occasional initiation to keep Tarantulas’ limitless appetite at bay, all seemingly spontaneous.

Keep him starving for Prowl's affection, but not hopeless of obtaining it. That would be the key to surviving with such a partner. A difficult balancing act, perhaps, but not impossible. If anyone could do it, it was Prowl.

For now, he needed to take advantage of this breather. First order of business: wipe his hands. Then, he could finally get some work done.


	2. Dear Deceit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ;)

Watching Tarantulas work was hypnotic. From his makeshift desk set up next to Tarantulas’s workbench, Prowl could study his every move in detail; the way he hunched over the slab, his face bathed in light from several minutely positioned lamps, the intense focus in Tarantulas’s expression, clear in every line.

The steady, fluid motions with which he worked his tools on the skeletal machine structure gradually taking shape on the slab spoke louder of skill than any bragging words. Of course, Tarantulas had many words and a seeming allergy to silence, but Prowl had never known his words to be empty - he just had a limitless number of ideas, and a preference for verbalizing them as part of the creation process.

(Prowl could still remember a time, though distant now, when he had spent countless hours serving as listener and critic during that process, while Mesothulas rambled his way through the process of making reality of Prowl’s darkest fantasies.)

“You’re staring.” Tarantulas’s amused voice cut through the silence and Prowl’s wandering thoughts.

“I’m running simulations,” Prowl corrected him. “I don’t have enough processing power left over to perform any of my other tasks at the same time.” Or to control his wandering thoughts, it seemed. Prowl swallowed down the shapeless discomfort that bloomed when he realized the directions his mind had drifted.

“Mmhmm,” Tarantulas hummed. “And so you chose to watch me, instead. Interesting.”

“It's not that interesting,” Prowl said, a little put off by his teasing tone. “My eyes unconsciously settled on the only moving thing in the room. There’s no deeper meaning.”

“If you say so, dear,” Tarantulas agreed pleasantly. It was extremely obnoxious. Prowl said nothing, but his eyes followed the spider limbs on Tarantulas’s back when they reached for the lamps and deftly manipulated their positioning until their light fell exactly where Tarantulas needed it.

No, that wasn't right, Prowl mentally chastised himself. He was assuming it was exactly where Tarantulas wanted it. He really had no way to judge - he didn’t even know what Tarantulas was building. Without thinking, he'd assumed that whatever Tarantulas did was done to perfection, and that-- that was unspeakably dangerous.

Prowl was so unnerved by his own slip-up that he almost flinched when Tarantulas straightened. Almost, but he caught himself in time. Tarantulas stretched, languidly and ostentatiously, clearly making a show of it. Prowl’s optics stayed glued to every movement.

“So, Prowl,” Tarantulas said, casually sidling over to Prowl's desk. He pushed a few strewn datapads into some semblance of an pile, freeing up a patch of space on the table, and perched on it. If he noticed Prowl looking vaguely annoyed at the haphazard treatment of his datapads, he ignored it. “What's got that brilliant mind of yours working so hard today?”

Prowl eyed him warily. “Cleaning up your mess,” he said.

Tarantulas’s optics crinkled with amusement. “And which mess might that be?” he asked. As he spoke, one of his paws found its way to Prowl's hand placed on the desk and stroked it affectionately. Prowl's fingers twitched once, but he very deliberately let his hand stay.

“Your information network composed almost entirely of bots who want me dead, exposed, or both, and thought you'd be using their information toward that end. I've been sorting them into broad categories and calculating how to proceed with each from there.”

“What are the categories?” Tarantulas asked, leaning forward with interest.

“There are three right now: those who can be deceived into thinking they still contribute to their believed goal, those who can be convinced to work for me, and those who will need to be disposed of.”

“You’re so clever,” Tarantulas murmured. “I was just going to purge the lot of them once I had you back. Present you with a gift of all your enemies, as it were.”

“They don't have to be my enemies just because they hate me,” Prowl corrected him. “Many of my most useful assets hate me.”

“I don't hate you,” Tarantulas said sweetly, leaning slightly closer to Prowl, visor flirtatiously dimmed.

Don't you? The words reached Prowl's lips, but no further. “I know,” he said instead, optics dimming as he allowed Tarantulas to complete the motion, resting his forehead against Prowl’s. Slowly, he turned his hand and laced his fingers with the claws of Tarantulas’s paw. Tarantulas shivered softly.

They stayed like that until Prowl grew uncomfortable, then he turned his head slightly, glancing at the mysterious project taking shape on Tarantulas’s slab.

“And yourself? What are you working on?” he asked, immediately regretting how intimately soft his voice sounded.

Tarantulas straightened slowly, reluctantly, then leaned back and followed Prowl's gaze. “Oh, that?” he said with feigned carelessness, “I'm building a new gate to the Noisemaze. The current existing ones lead into the maze itself, so I thought you might appreciate a more convenient alternative for when your… work… requires an excursion.” 

Prowl looked up at him, surprised. He had been fully prepared to have to fight tooth and nail to be permitted to leave Tarantulas’s private pocket dimension when the time came.

“Thank you,” he said automatically.

Stupid. He shouldn't thank Tarantulas for reaching the incredibly low goal of not _entirely_ keeping Prowl prisoner. If Tarantulas was actually interested in protecting Prowl’s autonomy, he would have given him the sensory blockers Prowl knew Tarantulas had installed in himself to protect himself from the effects of the Noisemaze. Instead, he gave him this single, easily controlled gate, presenting it as a gift that he had the power to give Prowl… and to take away, should he ever wish it. Thanking him was a tacit admission of that power. An admission that he could have kept Prowl trapped here if he had chosen it, and that he would have had a right to.

Stupid.

“Oh, anything for you, Prowl,” Tarantulas said, preening with pleasure. If he realized the unspoken implications, he gave no indication. “I should be ready to put the finishing touches to it, oh…” His eyes raked meaningfully down Prowl's body until his gaze settled on Prowl's swollen abdomen. “...Not long after our little projects finish incubating.”

Ah. Did he think Prowl was going to run off with his creations rolling around in his body? Prowl could have told him he had no reason to worry. As if he had anywhere to go. As if he could even run when he was in a constant state of lightheadedness and fatigue because the eggs kept finding ever new locations to pinch his wires and block his energon lines. Even Tarantulas massaging his belly didn't help any more, as the eggs had grown firm and unyielding with maturity and no longer moved from their inconvenient spots with just a little pushing.

That realization, that Tarantulas’s possessiveness may not be entirely because of Prowl himself made him feel… things. Things he didn't particularly want to analyze. He carefully isolated that bundle of emotion, folded it neatly into a mental box, and filed it away to be examined never.

“How long?” he asked instead. “When are you going to take them out?”

Tarantulas gently untangled his paw from Prowl's hand and placed both paws on the swell of eggs, feeling around with firm touches. The rough touch drew a hard breath from Prowl, but the eggs inside barely shifted.

“Not long, now, I think,” Tarantulas hummed, mercifully refraining from teasing Prowl. The heat brought to Prowl's wires by that brief authoritative touch was humiliating enough without having to actually acknowledge it.

“What does that mean?” Prowl asked, voice deliberately steady. “Why can't you just pick a day and take them out? Being in there doesn't actually confer any benefits to their growth. Haven't they had enough time to become attached to me by now?”

“Not necessarily,” Tarantulas explained patiently. “Being suddenly moved before they're ready could be traumatic, and that trauma could overwrite their memories of you. I'd like to keep it as close to their emergence as possible to minimize the risk. Please, try to be patient a little longer.” Tarantulas slid smoothly from his seat in the desk to the floor, kneeling at Prowl's feet, and wrapped his arms around Prowl's midsection. “You're doing so well, dear. It will all be worth it in the end. I promise.”

It sounded so reasonable. Prowl sighed. “You don't have enough data to make that promise,” he said, “But fine. I trust you to keep a close eye on their progress. I just don't like the idea of being infested with them because we waited too long and they started waking up on their own.”

Tarantulas chuckled softly. His claws dipped into armor seams on Prowl's back and scritched soothingly. “Not to worry, Prowl. They're not a scraplet infestation. They'd be too big to burrow around beneath your armor. No, when the time comes, we'll get them all out, one way or the other.”

Prowl sighed and leaned into the pleasant touch. His back struts ached.

“If you say so,” he conceded. Tarantulas’s touch grew bolder. His new position was clearly giving him certain ideas, so Prowl wouldn’t get much more productive conversation out of him, anyway.

Prowl couldn't quite bring himself to mind.

* * *

He spent the night in Tarantulas’s bed. He had maneuvered Tarantulas into giving him a room of his own, but Prowl kept careful tabs on how often he allowed himself to use it. Tonight wasn't strictly a night that he had _planned_ to stay with Tarantulas, but the schedule was flexible. Being reminded that Prowl wouldn't be carrying his eggs for much longer seemed to have filled Tarantulas with an urgent need to make the most of it. Throughout the day, he’d kept drifting back to Prowl with needy touches, over and over. He'd adored every inch of Prowl's body two or three times by now, and dirtied more of Prowl's datapads than Prowl was entirely pleased with.

In the end it was unsurprising when Tarantulas tugged him hopefully to his bedroom door at the end of the day. Prowl saw no reason to say no - possibly helped by the fact that Tarantulas hadn't let him come once during the previous activities of the day.

Later, he lay dozing next to Tarantulas, too tired to do anything but be vaguely annoyed by the fluids drying in smears on his thighs. Tarantulas lay next to him, idly stroking small circles on Prowl's hip with one paw. His visor was dimmed near to darkness, but he didn't appear close to sleep.

“Prowl,” he murmured, shifting an inch closer. His melancholy tone put Prowl instantly on alert. He carefully blocked his body’s impulse to tense. It was about time, really. Tarantulas had gone almost three weeks now without returning to this subject. 

“Prowl,” he said, “Tell me about Ostaros.”

Prowl sighed quietly and turned his optics off. “There's nothing new to tell, Tarantulas. Why keep tormenting yourself like this?”

Tarantulas let out an agitated little hiss, paw tightening slightly on Prowl's hip. “Tell me again. I want to hear you say it.” A moment’s pause, then, softly, “Please, Prowl.” So vulnerable.

Prowl rolled onto his back, draped his arm over his optics, and opened a carefully chosen file.

“I gave him a name. An origin. A background. Twist of Altihex. The transport from his con facility was attacked by Decepticon terrorists. Recruitment of new, impressionable troops. Survivors were taken by the Decepticons, but Twist was hidden beneath debris. With the whole shipment presumed lost, he was left to get by on his own. He hadn’t even been assigned a registered identity yet. He lived on the streets until the civil war went into full swing, at which point he joined the Autobots. I approved his enlistment.

“His first deployment was the supply line between Iacon and Kalis, transporting medical supplies. He never saw combat. During the third re-taking of Vos, the supply line was diverted to the battle. The Decepticons set an ambush. Of his convoy, five died, twenty escaped with their lives, and the bodies of their comrades.”

“You didn’t see him die.” Tarantulas’s voice sounded faint. Brittle. Desperately longing for an answer that Prowl couldn’t - wouldn’t - give him.

“The remains were shipped back to Iacon for confirmation. The casualties hadn’t yet grown too numerous to make that feasible or inconspicuous. I saw his body.”

A muffled sound like a wounded gasp escaped Tarantulas. Prowl moved his arm until the light of a single dim blue optic shone through his fingers, watching Tarantulas, but he made no move to comfort him.

He had no right to comfort him.

“He’s dead, Tarantulas,” he said softly, deliberately twisting the knife. “He’s dead, and he’s not coming back.”

Tarantulas shuddered, then curled into a ball, his entire body wracked by silent sobs. Prowl watched him and waited. Time seemed unhinged and distant, stretched into one long, unceasing present, the shaking form beside him the only movement in the dark room. When the urge to reach out to Tarantulas threatened to overtake him, he began to count. One. Two. Three. Four. Five.

He lost track somewhere in the thirteen hundreds, when Tarantulas began to stir. His sobs had subsided some two hundred numbers ago, but Prowl had felt it unwise to try to rouse him before he was ready.

Tarantulas’s expression was unreadable, but after a moment, he rolled on top of Prowl, hovering over him on paws and knees. His eyes met Prowl’s. Slowly, he lifted one paw and wound it around Prowl’s neck, a heavy weight resting on his throat. Prowl’s gaze remained steady. So did Tarantulas’s. Prowl placed one hand over Tarantulas’s paw.

After an eternity, Tarantulas’s gaze faltered, turned mournful again. His paw grew limp and fell away. He leaned down and gently rested his forehead against Prowl’s.

“I believe you,” he said, finally, so soft that it could have been mistaken for imagination.

Prowl thought about the last 32 times they had gone over this story. 32 times that Prowl had regurgitated the brief personnel file of Twist of Altihex. Nothing was a lie. There was a Twist. Prowl did know him, did help him, gave him a false backstory to cover a true past that only Prowl knew about. Prowl did take a personal interest in following his service with the Autobots. Was naive enough, soft enough, back then, to force himself to personally examine and verify the remains.

All of it was true. True enough.

‘I believe you’. This was this sixth time in a row Tarantulas had made the same statement at the end of the story. Compared to last time, Prowl's calculations showed a half percent point increase in the likelihood that Tarantulas believed his own statement.

Maybe next time, he could be convincing enough to bring the calculation up a full percent point.

Prowl wrapped his arms around Tarantulas, then his legs, and held him close. Tarantulas clung to him like a lifeline. It wasn’t the comfort Tarantulas truly wanted, but this was the reality Prowl chose for them. Maybe one day it would be enough.


	3. Love Kills

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a year or so ago i watched romantic comedy alien (1979) starring sigourney weaver in anticipation of writing this chapter. it's been a long time coming. happy new year.
> 
> warnings: a traumatic birth, off-hand not-taken-very-seriously infant death, ummm extended gag about eating babies

“Take a seat on the slab, dear,” Tarantulas said absently. “I'll be with you in a moment.”

Prowl did as instructed, one hand supporting his belly while Tarantulas wasn’t looking. He quietly watched Tarantulas sort through his tools next to the medical slab; Prowl's medical expertise was nonexistent, but there seemed to be a great deal more of them than was strictly necessary. He couldn’t say if that was reassuring or not.

“Didn’t you say this would just be an examination?”

“Hmm?” Tarantulas looked up. “Oh, it is. But it always pays to be cautious.”

“Does it?”

Tarantulas clicked his mandibles, seeming amused. “For my favorite patient, at least.” As he spoke, Tarantulas began to run his claws along Prowl's sides, carefully dipping into seams and attaching leads. “I thought you would appreciate that I take your care seriously, dear Prowl. Would you prefer that I didn't?” 

Prowl leaned back slightly, shifting his arms away from his body, giving Tarantulas easier access to his abdomen. He forced himself to hold still, despite the impatience he felt. “No, of course not. Don't twist my words. I just wonder what you're up to.”

“What I'm ‘up to’ is examining the first live trial subject of an experimental procedure that involves placing invasive foreign bodies inside the subject's abdominal cavity,” Tarantulas murmured pleasantly, focused on his path down Prowl’s sides. “Everything has gone well so far, but it wouldn't do to become complacent so close to the end.”

“Hmm. Does that mean you're ready to take them out? Or are you still stalling?”

“I wouldn't call it stalling,” Tarantulas stalled, “It's simply a matter of timing. Ideally, I'd like a few more days…”

“I don’t think you have a few days,” Prowl interrupted him. He reached for Tarantulas’s paw and placed it firmly against the front of his belly. Even with his hand atop Tarantulas’s paw, he could feel rippling movement under his hand. Not that Prowl needed his hand to detect the intense activity in his belly.

“...Ah.” Tarantulas felt around Prowl’s stomach with keen interest, pausing at a few spots, at one point pushing down hard enough to get an uncomfortable little grunt from Prowl. “How long has this been going on?”

“A few hours now.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I did, just now. You were already going to examine me, and I wanted to observe if it would stop on its own. It hasn't. You agree that they need to come out now, right?”

“Hm.”

“Tarantulas?”

“Yes, yes. I’ll need to prepare.”

“How long?”

“A day.”

“We don’t have a day, Tarantulas.” If Prowl sounded impatient, he blamed the nausea that had set in approximately 1.5 hours ago. But mostly he blamed Tarantulas for being evasive and contrarian for no reason he could discern.

“Oh, stop fussing,” Tarantulas said, patting Prowl’s cheek with condescending affection. Prowl ducked his head away in irritation. “I’ll do what I can, but I do need time to prepare for surgery. Why don’t we proceed with the examination? I’ll still need the information before the operation.”

“Fine.” Prowl forcibly bit back his irritation at Tarantulas’s flippant attitude.

Tarantulas’s optics squinted in a smirk, mandibles rustling with amusement. “Thank you for being reasonable, dear.” He bent over Prowl, scratching searchingly at the seams just below his belly, where he attached the last few leads.

Prowl watched Tarantulas carefully study the attached monitor, but the arrangement of numbers meant nothing to him. The sickening squirming in his gut was making it difficult to focus, now that he’d held it together long enough to talk to Tarantulas.

Prowl was trying very hard to not worry.

After… Prowl didn’t register how long, Tarantulas bent back down and cradled Prowl’s side, gently detaching the leads on one side, then the other. The heat of Tarantulas’s body hovering over his and the tickling sensation of his fur on Prowl’s plating grated sickeningly against his sensitized sensory net. Prowl's optics flickered off until Tarantulas’s presence moved away.

In the darkness he was acutely aware of the individual shapes impatiently knocking against each other in the snug confines of his belly. The thought that he was on the cusp of Tarantulas slicing him open and finally ridding him of them brought him a strange mix of relief, trepidation, and revulsion in equal measures. When they were finally out, he'd have to actually deal with them as living beings, something which seemed abruptly real now with the willful, squirming protest they were enacting on his innards.

And then he felt a deep, sharp stab. Prowl gave a shocked, weak cough. Tarantulas looked up from his tool tray.

“Prowl?”

A second stab made Prowl choke on his half-formed words. And it _was_ a stab, a clear sensation of a thin, sharp object lodging itself in his inner cabling. A limb.

“I think they're out,” Prowl choked out, grabbing desperately at the paw Tarantulas reached for him with even as he curled painfully around his stomach. Tarantulas let Prowl hold on to him, steadying him with his other paw on his shoulder, and studied him with interest.

“They must have figured out how to transform out of their egg state,” he said, matter-of-factly. “The gelatinous membrane is designed to break away the first time they change shape. How does it feel?”

“They're clawing--” Prowl struggled to speak. Just like that, the wiggling of eggs had turned to a writhing mess of a hundred needle-like limbs scrabbling and slashing for purchase, as if one of them figuring out the trick had inspired the rest all at once. If the situation had been different, Prowl would have been impressed by how quickly they learned from each other.

As it was, he could barely think straight. “Help me-- Tarantulas-- It _hurts_ \--”

“Don’t worry, Prowl,” Tarantulas reassured him with strange, pleased detachment. “This is just as it should be. Here, lie back.” He pushed Prowl tenderly back against the gently elevated head half of the slab until he was reclined in a half-sitting position.

“You planned this.” Prowl's voice was weak but accusatory. 

“Of course I did, dear. Please, you didn't really think I was only putting off your ‘surgery’ because I liked having you full of my eggs, did you?” Tarantulas sounded amused. Prowl couldn't focus on his face enough to read his expression. “I've been waiting for the little ones to be ready for this for the better part of a week.”

“Why… why are you doing this to me?” Prowl panted between pained gasps. “I’ve... done... everything you've asked of me…”

“Hush, Prowl, you've misunderstood, “ Tarantulas crooned in his ear. “This is no punishment. I know it hurts, but you're doing so well.”

A wail wrung its way out of Prowl's vocalizer. Tiny limbs squirmed between his fuel lines. Vicious teeth ripped him apart, harsh claws snagged and tore through internal tubing. Pain sensors screamed in his head. 

The pain paralyzed him, overwhelmed his senses. Limbs received no commands from a mind drowning in white noise. His head lay limply against the slab.

“Why won't you help me…?” he moaned weakly. He could taste his own energon on his tongue. “I'm… going to die.”

“Silly Prowl,” Tarantulas said sweetly. His paws held Prowl pinned to the slab, even as his attention was fixed on his rippling belly. “I won't let you die. I would never let you die. The pain you're feeling is only temporary. Your pain receptors are already on the verge of burning out, and then you won't feel a thing.”

He leaned in close, bumping his forehead affectionately against Prowl's. “You'll remember this forever,” he murmured. “The birth of your family - of _our_ family. Nothing will ever erase the memory of this pain. The memory that you belong with us.”

Prowl coughed weakly, a thin line of energon running down the corner of his mouth. His optics flickered, beginning to go into emergency shutdown to preserve energy. Tarantulas’s fur was unnaturally cool against his cheek. He leaned into it, dazed, seeking comfort.

“You look so beautiful in pain, Prowl,” Tarantulas whispered in his ear. “Free of pretense. Of deception. Of pretending to be above it all. I love you so much, Prowl. Please don't ever forget that.”

A wet pop and an ugly crack reached Prowl's ears from a great distance, and warm, wet energon splattered his plating. One horrid little limb reached out, scraped against his plating, searching for purchase.

“Oh! They're emerging!” Tarantulas’s voice was growing fuzzy in Prowl's ears, interspersed with a shrill wailing noise, but his excitement was unmistakable. “Welcome to the world, little one. Ow!” The shrieking became abruptly muffled, overtaken by a horrible, wet grinding sound. Tarantulas hastily lifted his paw above his head, glistening with energon that stung brightly in Prowl’s vision. One claw was missing, hideously ripped away, the ragged stump dripping copiously.

More shrieking voices joined the first, claws shoving and tearing at the crack in Prowl’s plating. His sensory net was struggling to comprehend the overwhelming amount of information, all melding into a sickening sensation of bursting wide open, unknowable shapes spilling and tumbling out of him. The screaming wouldn’t stop.

From far away, Tarantulas swore. Prowl didn’t know what that meant. He couldn’t see. He couldn’t think. He was untethered, bodiless. Sounds grew more and more distant, engulfing him in a silence so heavy it seemed to press him into the ground.

And then he perceived no more.

* * *

He woke slowly, mind unwilling to return to his battered body. His head, his limbs, every part of him felt impossibly heavy. Other than that, he didn't feel much of anything, his burnt out pain receptors deadening his senses.

It would be so easy to slip back into unconsciousness. He wanted to. Every part of him longed for rest. All he had to do was… let go.

His optics flickered online.

Tarantulas had his back to him, hunched over something on the floor that was blocked from Prowl's view, and he was murmuring softly to it.

“Yes, yes, I know you want to go play, I just need to make sure you're all here. All limbs intact? Good, good…”

Prowl struggled to grasp the words, his attention floating far away. His eyes drifted from Tarantulas, gliding over blank walls and incomprehensible equipment, until his gaze fixed on a mysterious object dangling from the ceiling. It looked like a box, but it was shaking and swaying, a furious scuffling heard from inside.

Prowl stared blearily at it, uncomprehending, for what felt to his addled mind like about a year, until the sound of Tarantulas’s voice shattered his dazed reverie.

“Oh, Prowl! You're awake!” Tarantulas quickly approached the bed, immediately beginning to fuss over Prowl. One of his paws looked hastily patched up.

“How do you feel? You should be stable right now, but do tell me if anything at all feels off.”

“I don't feel anything,” Prowl said, struggling to understand the words battering his ears.

“Hm. No, you wouldn't, would you. I'll have to do a partial rewiring, but it'll have to wait until your full surgery, anyway.” Tarantulas glanced meaningfully down Prowl's body. Prowl couldn't see whatever he was looking at over his bumper, so he tried to sit up, but Tarantulas hastily grabbed his shoulders and shoved him back down.

“Nonono,” he said, alarmed, “I'm afraid I'm can't let you do that, dear. You're still mostly being held together by gravity, and I don't think you want to spill your guts all over the floor.”

Prowl frowned, uncomfortably pinned under Tarantulas’s paws. “Tarantulas.”

“Yes, Prowl?”

“Exactly how close did I come to dying?”

“Ah. Hm,” Tarantulas hemmed nervously. “Why dwell on the past, dearest? I've never failed to bring you a miracle when you needed it, hmm?”

“ _Tarantulas_. What the hell were you thinking? You tried to kill me!”

“I did not! I was confident I'd be able to stabilize you. Maybe I didn't quite anticipate that you'd lose so much energon so quickly, and maybe you got a tad closer to fading during the stabilization than I would have liked, but I had it in hand in the end!”

“You--” Prowl felt dizzy, the heavy silence encroaching on the edge of his consciousness. Tarantulas seemed very far away. With forced calm, Prowl said: “Show me.”

“What?”

“My wounds. I want to see how bad it is for myself.”

“Ah…” Tarantulas looked reluctant, but seemed to be cowed somewhat by Prowl's clear displeasure. “Very well, dear, if you insist.” He moved cautiously away from Prowl like he thought Prowl might take a lunge at him, then started rummaging through his equipment.

The makeshift cage suspended from the ceiling gave an angry thump. Prowl privately agreed. His eyes followed Tarantulas’s movement, carefully avoiding looking at the corner Tarantulas had been fussing over when he woke up.

Tarantulas was mercifully quick, and hurriedly brought a large mirror to Prowl, positioning it above his stomach, angled towards Prowl's face. Crude, but effective.

Prowl studied the image and felt nothing. His abdominal plating was just... gone. An open cavity, piles of neon tubing that looked chewed through and patched back together with sloppy speed. His own fuel tank glinting back at him, marred by deep gouges. Mysterious tubes and wires lead out of the gaping hole. Tarantulas’s quip about spilling his guts had been uncharmingly literal.

“It's not as bad as it looks,” Tarantulas said quietly. “The plating was hopelessly warped already, so it would have needed to be replaced regardless. I removed what wasn't, ah, demolished, myself. The real danger was in how badly they shredded your tubing, and I've already patched that up, at least well enough to last until I go in to replace it.”

Prowl said nothing. The longer his silence stretched on, the more nervous Tarantulas seemed to grow.

“What if you hadn't been here,” he said, finally. He sounded as exhausted as he felt. “You could have been sick, or gotten hurt in one of your projects. Did you even have a backup plan in case you wouldn't be able to stabilize me yourself?”

“But I was here.” Tarantulas seemed confused by the question. He carefully leaned the mirror against a piece of machinery, then looked pleadingly at Prowl. “Everything turned out _fine_ , Prowl. What does it matter now?”

“It matters because you happily risked my _life_ \--” Prowl bit down on his words, frustrated. Tarantulas didn't understand. Tarantulas didn't _care_. Prowl's life dangling in Tarantulas’s paw was probably a _plus_ in his mind.

Prowl felt so tired.

Tarantulas watched him anxiously, but said nothing for so long that Prowl began to hope he'd leave him alone. No such luck, however, as Tarantulas timidly touched his shoulder. 

“Do you want to see them?”

Prowl wanted to sleep. He wanted his body to be whole and his mind free of the crushing fatigue. He did not, in fact, want to ‘see them’.

“Fine,” he said.

Tarantulas lit up and reached for the hanging cage, unceremoniously turning it upside down and dumping a tiny bundle into his paw. The thing flailed and hissed and spit in his direction, but Tarantulas just looked immensely proud and pleased.

“I'm calling this one the _adelphophage_ ,” he said happily, holding the creature up for Prowl, carefully avoiding putting any appendages near its angrily grinding mouth. When it saw Prowl, it froze, staring intently at him. Prowl skeptically studied the horrid thing. It had eight legs pointed like sharp needles, and a body split into segments. Its head was dominated by one huge round optic, glaring red at him. Several smaller points of red that might be extra eyes surrounded the larger optic, and two tiny pedipalps extended from either side of its mouth. The pedipalps twitched occasionally. 

In short, it was a spider.

“Is this your design?” Prowl asked.

“Yes, of course. They were imprinted with a basic blueprint for these initial bodies,” Tarantulas gushed. “I'll be constructing fully developed bodies for them later, and these will become their spark chambers.”

He turned the creature towards himself and cooed over it. “When your brain modules and voice boxes finish developing, you can design your own alt modes! Won't that be fun for you? Yes it will!” The thing hissed angrily at him.

It didn't make a single noise when it was staring at Prowl. Prowl didn’t know what that meant.

“What about the others?” he asked. His eyes turned slowly, deliberately toward the corner he had been avoiding. A hastily constructed corral held a crowd of identical little creatures, all crawling over each other, nosing around their temporary prison.

“Oh, they're all fine. Seven perfect little angels. None of them are as big as the adelphophage, though.”

“Seven?” Even to Prowl's exhausted brain, that didn't seem right. “That's only eight. There were twelve eggs.” He’d counted them. Many, many times.

“Ah, well…” Tarantulas looked almost embarrassed. “Two thirds is a fairly good result for a first try, don't you think?”

“What happened!?”

Tarantulas sighed reluctantly. “They were... very hungry when they emerged. Well, a few of them were. Well, just this one, really.” He held the spider in his paws aloft. “After it made its way through three of its siblings I thought it prudent to separate it from the rest.”

“Why did you wait until _three_ to intervene!?”

“Well… it was scientifically interesting. Very valuable first data.”

Prowl opened his mouth, not even knowing what he _could_ say, but paused. “Wait. If it only ate three, that still leaves one missing. What happened to the fourth?”

Tarantulas slowly averted his gaze from Prowl.

“Tarantulas?”

The silence stretched on until it was so taut it was about to snap.

“Tarantulas. What. Did. You. Do.”

Tarantulas busied himself with depositing the spider in his arms back into its cage, then stared sheepishly at a point somewhere to Prowl's left.

“I was curious. Scientifically speaking.”

Prowl allowed himself a solid ten seconds of vivid fantasy of climbing out of his sick bed and murdering Tarantulas where he stood.

“All of this. All this work, these months of waiting, my near _death_. And you use the culmination of all that effort as a _snack bar_!?”

“Now, Prowl, I can see you're angry…”

“I'm not angry. I'm _furious_. I don't want to talk to you. I don't want to look at you. I want to go to sleep, and when I wake up I want to be fully repaired, and then I want to have a very, very long conversation with you.” Prowl paused ominously. “Do I make myself clear?”

Tarantulas huddled pitifully under Prowl's rage. “Yes, dear,” he said meekly.

“Will there still be eight of them left when I wake up and count them?”

“Yes, dear. I swear.”

“Your word is worthless to me. Just do it.”

“Yes, dear.”

“We’ll see.”

Prowl promptly shut his optics off and ignored Tarantulas.

Tarantulas didn’t bother him any further, but Prowl could hear him moving about the room, cleaning up and moving things. Prowl's head felt heavy, but sleep still eluded him. Absently, he noted Tarantulas had settled by the corral, murmuring softly to the creatures. Loud chirps answered him every time he fell silent. Prowl found himself wondering how much they really understood.

How much would he have to teach them? How soon would they be able to be useful? Were these little beasts even capable of the loyalty Tarantulas promised him? Was this all going to turn out to be one massive waste of time?

No, he reminded himself. These weren't fully developed cybertronians with immutable character quirks. For now they were more sparks with legs than sentient beings, little balls of bloodthirsty instinct, but they wouldn't stay that way. He was going to teach them differently; that was the whole point of all this. It wouldn't be the first time he’d had to herd a set of violent, unruly beings with no detectable sense of morals into a semblance of a team.

But enough about the Wreckers.

The more he considered the task, the clearer he began to see his main obstacle in this project. Under no circumstances could he allow them to absorb any part of their personalities from Tarantulas. His callous disregard for life, ethics, and moral limits of any kind had occasionally been of use to Prowl, but the last thing he needed was _more_ of him. Not to mention that any personal loyalty Tarantulas gained from them would be another weapon pointed directly at Prowl. 

That would be the priority, then. Loyalty to each other to work as a team. Loyalty to Prowl to direct them. And without Tarantulas ever realizing it, Prowl would have to make sure that loyalty to Tarantulas stayed firmly in third place for all of them.

This, Prowl could tackle. The process of sorting possibilities into potential scenarios into promising simulations to run was as familiar as thought, perfected over the course of four million years, and as calculations began to run, the soothing orderliness of it was what finally began to lull Prowl's exhausted mind into recharge. It would run its course without him. When he awoke, he would have a plan. He would be back in control.

He could finally sleep.


End file.
